


Young and Spry

by battybatzgirl



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Twenty-Something Ford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:42:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6090454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battybatzgirl/pseuds/battybatzgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After getting shot with a rogue plasma ray, Ford gets stuck in his 20 year old body.  Stan can't keep his hands off him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are a lot of AUs going around with Stan being deaged with older Ford. I wanted an opposite of that, because c'mon, Ford is adorable when he's young, and Stan knows it.

It starts with Mabel yelling and clamoring up the stairs.

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Stan!” 

Stan is already out of his chair, the TV still turned on but now forgotten.  He moves automatically to where Mabel’s voice is coming from—he meets her halfway, practically catching her as she comes tumbling out of the secret door behind the vending machine.

“Ford—had a gun—“ she said between pants.  “You have to—come—“

Mabel had grabbed his hand as if to lead him, but it was Stan that started leading her, his mind going blank except for the words _Ford_ and _gun_.  Pulling Mabel down the stairs to the basement, he could hear Dipper’s frantic voice echoing off the metallic walls.  But then all Stan could hear was his blood rushing in his ears, because Ford couldn’t be hurt, he _couldn’t_ , not after everything—

Stan ran into the lab, and his eyes immediately locked on Dipper, who was bouncing up and down on his heels next to Ford, who was lying on a heap on the ground.

“Ford!  Are you—“

Stan cut himself off when Ford sat up.  Ford had no visible injuries and looked fine—except for the fact he was now forty years younger.

Ford’s glasses were askew, dangling off his younger, smoother face haphazardly.  His hair was wild and deep brown without any trace of gray.  His clothes hung off his body and looked to be two sizes too big. 

Stanley guessed Ford was in his early twenties.  And with a jolt, Stan realized this was the first time he had actually _seen_ Ford this age.

“Stanley?” Ford asked, squinting and moving to adjust his glasses on his face.  “What are you gawking at?  Oh.”  Ford made a noise of surprise and glanced down at his clothes and hands, and seemed to make a conclusion of his own.

“Great Uncle Ford, are you okay?” Mabel pushed past Stan, moving toward his twin.

“I’m sorry!” Dipper burst out at the same time.  “I missed the target and it bounced off the screen!  I didn’t know it was gonna—“

“Dipper, I’m fine,” Ford reassured him, holding up one six fingered hand to silence the boy.  His sweater fell over his wrist because it was too big.  “It wasn’t your fault; now I know you need more practice before you handle another plasma gun.”

“Plasma gun?  Mabel’s bad enough with that grappling hook,” Stan found himself saying, stepping forward to his brother.  He reached down and grasped Ford’s hand in his own, pulling the other man up.  “Are ya stuck like this?’

“The radiation from the blast must have had an effect on my cell’s regeneration somehow,” Ford mused.  “I can recalibrate the gun in an hour or—oh—“  Stanley let go of Ford, and Ford swayed and stumbled back into Stan’s shoulder. 

“Easy there, Sixer.”

“My muscles must not be adjusted yet,” Ford said, trying again to walk but failing.  “Dipper, could you fetch my notes from the dining table?  I need to look back over the blueprints of the gun in order to reverse it.”

Dipper nodded once, and took off up the stairs into the shack, Mabel at his heels. 

“Now if I—Stanley?  Are you alright?”

Stan knows he should say something, but he just can’t stop _staring_.  Because this is what Ford looked like before he was corrupted.  Ford must have looked like this when he was in college, while Stan missed out on all those years because of that stupid science fair project.

Ford stares back at him for a moment, then moves to pick up the smoking gun on the floor.  He bends over and grabs it, but sways and nearly topples over again.  That is when Stan finally moves, snatching the gun out of Ford’s hands. 

“No,” Stanley says.  “You can’t work if you can’t stand.”

Ford’s face twists into a sour expression, and he crosses his arms over his chest.  “Stanley, that is ridiculous.  I need to get my body back. Do you expect me to stay like this forever?”

Stan can’t help it—he grins, because Ford is literally throwing a temper tantrum.  The fact that he looks like a kid in his dad’s clothing doesn’t help the fact at all, and Ford’s face colors in frustration. 

“I think you’re finally actin’ your age,” Stanley teases, and Ford lunges for the gun in Stan’s hands.  Stan was expecting it, and grabs Ford around the waist and throws him over his shoulder.

“Stanley!” Ford exclaims, his voice going up an octave in surprise.  “Put me down at once!”

“You need to rest for once,” Stan chides, tossing the gun on a table before continuing up the stairs.  “If your body is preventin’ you from stayin’ upright, you need a break.”

“I got shot with plasma radiation!” Ford replies, and Stan can _hear_ him rolling his eyes.  “How do you expect my body to react?!”

Stan reaches the top of the stairs and opens the door to the shack before he sets Ford down.  Ford’s glasses were half off his nose again, and Stan sets them right.  Ford glares up at him, not acknowledging the kind action. 

Wait—holy shit, Ford was actually _shorter_ than Stanley now.  As twins, they had always grown in tandem, and one was no taller than the other at the same period of time.  But now, with Ford being significantly younger than Stan, he was at least three inches shorter and Stan can’t help but feel a small thrill at that. 

“Why don’t we eat dinner with the kids and you can fix the gun in the morning?” Stan offers, putting his best conman grin on.  Was it wrong of Stan to just want to look at Ford for a little longer?  And really, Ford shouldn’t be working in these kinds of conditions.  Sixer had to learn to take care of himself at some point, anyway…

Stan can tell Ford sees past his lame excuses, but heaves a sigh and gives in. “Fine,” Ford relents, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater to his wrists so he doesn’t look so awkward now.  It’s still baggy, but he can at least move his arms now.  “I’ll rest. Happy?”

“Yes,” Stanley says, and helps him into the kitchen where the kids are waiting.

All through dinner and the rest of the night, Stan can’t stop just _staring_.  This was the Ford he was supposed to grow up with.  He watched his brother carefully, trying to notice any tick his body gave away, any piece of time that got stuck in Ford’s body that Stan hasn’t seen before.

And maybe it was because of the height difference, or how big the sweater is on Ford, but for some reason Stan just couldn’t get over the fact that Ford is _young_.  Stanley wanted to touch him, to make sure he was real, run his hands over his skin which was currently untouched by age and worry. 

Stan could barely hold himself back until the night, when the kids had gone to sleep and Ford was heading into his room.  Ford made a muffled noise as Stan shoved him against the door to his room the instant it closed.  Stanley instantly had his hands in Ford’s hair, on his waist, running up and down his sides. 

Ford turns his head to the side, breaking the kiss.  He was flushed and panting already, looking confused.

“Stanley, what has gotten into you?”

“Talking too much,” is Stan’s only response as he kisses Ford again, messy and with too much tongue, but Ford melts into him anyway.  Stanley bites on his bottom lip and Ford moans in a way Stan wants to hear more of.

Without breaking the kiss, he grabs Ford’s hips and lifts him up, and Ford automatically wraps his legs around Stan’s waist.  They had done this once or twice as kids, so it must still be in Ford’s young muscle memory. 

“Lee,” Ford pants as Stan now attacks his neck.  “Wh— _ah_!”

Remembering where Ford is sensitive is like remembering how to breathe.  Stan nips on a spot behind Ford’s ear, and Ford makes a high, desperate noise.  Stan can feel Ford’s arousal against his own, but his arms are starting to ache from holding Ford, so he moves away from the wall to the bed.  Ford holds on to him a little tighter as he moves, but drops onto the bed when Stan releases him. 

Stanley immediately climbs over Ford and pulls at his sweater, yanking it up and off his brother’s head before he can protest.  The action musses Ford’s dark hair and makes him look endearing.

“Look at you, Sixer,” Stan says, slightly in awe because Ford’s body is exactly the way he remembers it from when they were kids.  “You’re still a beanpole.”

“Is that what this is about?” Ford asks, sitting up on his elbows, pushing Stan back a bit from where he was straddling him.  “My age difference?  I’m still the same age as you, you know.”

Stan doesn’t answer right away—he is looking at Ford’s chest.  It’s trim and smooth, not a scar or warped piece of skin in sight. 

Ford notices too, because he makes a soft “Oh” and runs his hand across his stomach. 

“This is…interesting,” Ford says, sitting up further, still poking and prodding himself.  “I can’t even feel any of the phantom pain I normally do.”

Stan brushes his hand across Ford’s chest, deliberately teasing a nipple.  Ford shivers, and Stan can’t help the sly grin that spreads across his face.

“Seem just as sensitive when you were younger, too,” Stan chides, and Ford’s eyes widen.

“Is this why you wouldn’t let me change back?” Ford asks, finally seeming to put it together.  “You wanted to ravish my younger body?  Stanley, you are— _mmpf_!”

Stan cuts him off with a kiss, gently coaxing Ford to lie back on the bed again.  When they break for air, Ford’s face is flushed a delicate shade of red and his eyes are half lidded behind his glasses, which are starting to fog.

“I’m a genius, I know,” Stan says, pressing a kiss to the underside of Ford’s smooth jawline.  Ford huffs, his breath coming out shakily as Stan sucks on a spot on his neck his sweater would normally cover.

“H-hardly,” Ford replies.  Stan moves down and kisses Ford’s collarbone while his other hand trails down to undo Ford’s belt.  “St-Stanley, I…”

His voice trails off as Stan covers the bulge in Ford’s pants with his hand and squeezes.  Ford’s head falls back and he moans softly. 

“Never seen ya this young,” Stan breathes into Ford’s collarbone, his voice low and gruff.  “Never got to do this to ya when ya were like this.”

Ford blinks, and a sorrowful expression pulls on his face and he opens his mouth to say something, but Stan kisses him before he can.  Because no, Stan doesn’t want to think about that now.  No, all he wants to think about is that Ford is _here_ and so _young_ and Stanley wants to do _everything_ to him.

They’re both panting now, and Stan turns his attention to Ford’s pants and focuses on removing them.  At the same time, Ford fumbles with Stan’s suit and tie.  His hands are trembling just like they used to when he got aroused as a kid, and he ends up ripping off a few buttons by accident, but Stan doesn’t even care. 

Before too long, Ford is naked and Stan is left in only his boxers.  He feels slightly subconscious, but Ford still looks at him like he’s the best thing in the multiverse and that’s enough for Stan.  He climbs over Ford and gently coaxes him to lie back down, trailing kisses across his torso.  Ford’s neck and chest are flushed, and he squirms and makes a desperate noise when Stan sucks one of his nipples into a pebble and uses his fingers to pinch the other.

“Gonna make you come so hard,” Stan murmurs into Ford’s skin, nuzzling his face into Ford’s trembling stomach.  “Want to see if you have the stamina of a kid, too?” Stan teases, smirking, meeting Ford’s wide eyes.  “We could to this for hours.”  He presses a kiss to Ford’s hip, ignoring the straining hard cock next to him.

“Stan, if you even _think_ about that I can guarantee I will shoot you in the face,” Ford says, his voice trembling. Stan grins again because despite everything, Ford is actually _pouting_ and it is adorable. 

“Calm down, Sixer,” Stan laughs, and Ford huffs and falls back on the bed again, crossing his arms over his chest and looking pointedly at the ceiling.  “I’m not _evil_ genius.”

Ford is so preoccupied ignoring Stan that he doesn’t notice Stan moving down to lie between his legs on his stomach, pushing Ford’s legs up and shifting his hips until—

“ _Stanley_!” Ford cries, bolting upright in shock.  There was no way to miss the soft, wet tongue that had swiped across his entrance.

“Lay down and be good, Fordsy,” Stan instructs, not trying to hide the fact he is amused.  “Don’t make me tie you to the bed.” 

His head disappears between Ford’s legs, and his tongue brushed over Ford again.  Ford makes a strangled noise and falls back against the mattress.

Stan wonders offhandedly if this was alright.  They had never done this sort of thing before, mainly because it was a bit of a given that neither of them could get in a good position long enough before their bodies started to throb.  But now that Ford’s joints didn’t have all the aches and pains it had before, Stan can easily bend him in ways that would typically hurt him.  So far, there are no objections, and if the noises Ford makes are any indication, Stan guesses he likes it.

And it is _so_ worth it, to hear Ford come apart like this.  There is something sickeningly gratifying to hear his brother—his genius of a brother who apparently is an expert in everything—fall apart and have no grasp on words, leaving him to only make desperate moans. 

His legs are already shaking, and Stan flicks his tongue against Ford’s entrance and he reaches up with one hand to squeeze Ford’s balls.

And then Ford’s back is arching off the bed, his toes curling and his fingers grasping at the bedsheets, and he is coming.  He calls out Stan’s name, but the end of it is drawn out in a high whine.  Stripes of white cover his stomach and Stan slowly puts down his brother’s trembling legs.  Then, he sits back on his heels and simply stares at Ford.

His brother’s chest is heaving, his face and ears are flushed a deep red and his glasses are fogged over completely.  Ford’s lips are swollen and he looks dazed, still obviously coming down from his orgasm. 

And maybe it’s because Ford looks so _small_ on the bed, or maybe it’s because he is shorter than Stanley, or that he is covered in his own come, but something about this sets a deep, possessive spark off in Stan. 

Seeing Ford like this, young and debouched, was like a wet dream.  And shit, Stan can’t remember being harder in his life.

The moment is broken when Ford surges forward and kisses Stan, one six fingered hand tangling in Stan’s gray hair and the other wrapping around Stan’s own boxer covered length.  Stan almost growls, needing the touch—no, needing _Ford_ —but acts on his better judgement and pushes Ford’s hand away. 

“No,” Stan rumbles, “Wanna come in you.”

The sound that leaves Ford is purely animalistic.  Ford pulls Stan back on the bed, and this time it’s Ford pushing him down, covering Stan’s body with his own, kissing Stan like he can’t breathe without him.

“Jesus, Ford,” Stan gasps, breaking away from his brother’s hungry kiss.  “Let me get the lube first.”

Ford sits back and lets Stan reach into the bedside drawer to pull out the small container, glaring at him all the while.  “You started it,” Ford mutters, looking away.

“Who knew you would be so needy?” Stan says, tugging his boxers down and tossing them across the room.  “Oh wait, I did.  _I’m_ the genius.”

“Shut up and-and…”  Ford trails off and he bites his lip, blatantly staring as Stan as he spreads the lube over his fingers.  Stanley opens his mouth to speak, but Ford tackles him again, kissing him and moving to straddle Stan.

“I’m not twenty, Sixer,” Stan reminds him, barely catching his breath because Ford is acting like a horny teenager and it’s _amazing_ but Stan physically can’t recuperate.  He reaches his fingers behind Ford and teases his tailbone and entrance, feeling the goosebumps that rise up on Ford’s skin.

“Old geezer,” Ford mocks, peppering Stan’s face with kisses.  “I thought you wanted me young and spry.”

And _that’s_ the moment Stan chooses to push the first finger past Ford’s tight ring of muscle.  Whatever Ford’s reply was, it gets broken into a moan, his whole face crumbling in the sensation. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Ford breathes. 

“Yeah,” Stan replies, his voice gruff with arousal.  “Spry all right.”

“S-sh-ut up,” Ford says, trying to look stern but looking more like an angry kitten.  “Lee, you—“

Stan adds a second finger and Ford moans, louder than before, and he instantly claps his hands over his mouth.  Stan scissors his fingers and Ford’s face tightens, like he is in pain. 

“Are you okay?” Stan asks, removing his fingers and sitting up.  “We can stop if—“

“No!” Ford bursts out so quickly it surprises both of them.  “No,” he repeats, looking suddenly bashful.  “I’m fine.  I-I want to do this.”

“Okay,” Stan says after a beat, and moves backward to lean against the headboard.  He takes one hand to guide Ford’s hips, but just as Ford starts to sink down on Stan’s cock, he makes a fist and bites it.  Stan grabs Ford’s hips and holds him there, not letting Ford take any more.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Stan says, frustrated now that Ford isn’t listening.  He snatches Ford’s wrist and yanks his hand out of his mouth.  “Don’t hurt your hand, let’s stop—“

“I’m not in pain, Stanley!” Ford snaps.  “I’m—“  Ford visibly swallows and ducks his head.  His cheeks are turning pink when he says, “I’m trying to be _quiet_.  The children—they’re upstairs, and I don’t want to be loud.”

Stan blinks, then lets a wolfish grin spread over his face.  “Oh,” he says.  “In that case…” He slams Ford’s hips down to meet his own, shoving his cock in all with one thrust.

Ford squeals—he actually _squeals_ —and before he can cover his mouth, Stan catches both of his wrists.

“Don’t hurt your fingers, darling,” Stan says sweetly, bringing up one of Ford’s hands to his mouth and kissing each of his fingers.  Ford blushes and shifts forward and Stan can feel his cock go deeper. 

“ _Lee_ ,” Ford whines helplessly.  “You’re—I’m—oh—“

“I’ve gotcha, Sixer,” Stan coos into Ford’s neck, and he experimentally rolls his hips.  “Want to give you this.  Gonna make you fall apart.”

“Nnngg—no, no,” Ford shakes his head, pushing at Stan’s chest.  “You’ll h-hurt your back.  Let-let me.”

Stan nearly rolls his eyes, because _of course_ Ford would still be thinking right now, Jesus, did he ever shut it off?  But at the same time, Stan is finding a hard time focusing on anything else _besides_ Ford because he is so fucking tight and warm and _perfect_.

Ford lifts himself up and drops back down, and a breath whooshes out of him.  He starts to move faster, building a rhythm that isn’t too harsh, but Stan already feels like his heart is going to explode.   Stanley closes his eyes and focuses on the warm tight feeling of his brother riding him, listening to Ford babble.

“O- _oh_ , Lee, you’re s-so good, fe-el so b-big in me…”

Stan opens his eyes.  Ford’s head is thrown back, his eyes fluttering shut in pleasure.  Stan finds the spot on Ford’s neck that makes him squirm, and he bites it, angling his hips deeper until—

Ford jerks and wails, and Stan knew he had hit _that spot_.  Stan grabs Ford’s hips and slams him down onto his cock, hitting his prostate with every thrust. 

Old body or not, Stan knew he couldn’t last much longer.  His knees ached from having Ford’s weight on his legs but he didn’t care, didn’t ever want this to stop.  Ford feels so good, _looks_ so good, all young and eager and falling apart in Stanley’s lap.

He knew Ford must be close, too, but he wasn’t making any sense.  His whole body is shuddering and half of the words he was crying out didn’t sound like any kind of human language.  Apparently he didn’t care about waking the kids up anymore, because he was being so loud Stan’s hearing aid starts to ring in his ear. 

Maybe he was just loud to Stan.  Maybe Ford was only perfect to Stan.  All he knew was Ford was beautiful and sexy and wonderful and he completely belonged to Stan.

“L-uh- _Lee_!” Ford grasps desperately at Stan’s shoulders, his arms shaking.  “I-I ca-an’t—“

Stan wraps one hand at the base of Ford’s neck, tangling his fingers in his fluffy hair, and brings him forward into a kiss as his other hand went around Ford’s cock.  He only pumps his hand up and down twice before Ford’s body tightens, and he came for the second time that night.

Stanley swallows the scream that came out of Ford’s mouth, but just barely.  Ford was unresponsive for a moment, but then kissed Stan back and bit Stan’s lip and rolled his hips in the perfect way.  Stan shut his eyes, seeing stars as he came, and Ford makes a soft whimper at the feeling of Stan filling him.

For a moment, neither of them could move.  Ford collapses onto Stan, resting his head on Stan’s shoulder. 

“Ford,” Stan says, then again, louder, “ _Ford_.  Get off me.”

“Can’t,” Ford whines, nuzzling into Stan’s neck.  “You broke me with sex.”

“Mind saying that a few more hundred times?” Stan gloats.  Ford rolls back a bit and glares at Stan, but there is no heat behind it.  There really can’t be anyway, since his glasses are still completely fogged over.

“Is this always going to happen when one of my experiments goes wrong?” Ford asks instead.

“Nah,” answers Stan.  “Only the ones that make you young and cute.”

“I am not cute!” Ford exclaims, but Stan kisses him before he can start another fight.

“Seriously, get up.  You’re too fat and my legs are killin’ me.”

Ford rolls his eyes, and goes to move away, but with a jolt realizes Stan is still inside him.  Sheepishly, Ford rolls off Stan and collapses on the bed. 

“You should have been here when I got introduced to those pixie hormones,” Ford says absentmindedly, resting his head against Stan as he lays down, too.  “I had to quarantine myself because I turned into a sex crazed monster.”

“What?” Stan laughs, glancing at his brother, who was now curling up around Stan like a drowsy cat.  “How long did that last?”

“’Bout a week,” Ford murmurs, his eyes closing.  “Fiddleford got a surprise when he found me barricaded in my room.”

“Can I get more of that?” Stan asks, meaning it as a joke, but when Ford doesn’t reply he turns to look at him.  “Aw, what!  No, don’t fall asleep—Stanford, you’re gonna be sticky in the morning and blame me!”

But Ford only hums in response, and Stan knows he is gone.  Stan sighs and kisses Ford’s brow before raising a six fingered hand to his lips. 

“What am I gonna do with you, Sixer?”  Stan reaches over and pulls Ford’s glasses off his face.  “Learn to fall asleep without your stupid glasses on, you’ll crack them even more.”

Stan takes one last moment to stare at Ford, young without corruption and worry, before placing his hand over Stan’s heart. 

“Goodnight, Poindexter.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I just need more of this Young Ford au. Have another chapter, friends.

It was not uncommon for Ford to have strange dreams.  Even before the whole deal-with-a-dream-demon fiasco, some nights he would wake up with the oddest scenarios fresh in his mind. 

In this particular dream, there was an octopus wrapped around his legs.  Slimy and sucking, Ford’s legs were trapped in the pleasantness of heat and—

Ford jerks awake, a cry ripped from his throat.  He notices three things at once; a blurry figure is lying between his open legs, he is naked, and he is achingly hard.

Scrambling to find his glasses, Ford shoves them on his face and sees the sly grin on his twin brother’s face.  And really, he should not have been surprised.

“Stanley!” Ford hisses, feeling his face heat but tries to ignore it.  “What on earth are you doing?”

“You just looked so pretty, Sixer,” Stan says as if in explanation, nuzzling against Ford’s hipbone.  “Couldn’t help myself.”  He lets out a hot breath against Ford’s cock, and Ford can’t stop the shudder that wracks his body.  Stan, the bastard, seems to know exactly what he is doing but still has the gall to raise his eyebrows like he is completely innocent.

“S-so the logical th-thing was to—to _suck me off_ in my _sleep_?” Ford shoots back, looking away and flushing a little at the crudeness of the words. 

Stan shrugs.  “Don’t hear you complainin’.” 

Ford sits up higher and says, “Stanley—“ but it turns into a yelp when Stan licked the length of his cock. 

Stan looks up at him from his position between Ford’s legs, the smolder in his gaze making Ford swallow thickly.  He opens his mouth, waiting for some kind of intelligent protest or just words in general to come, but they never do.  Instead, his attention is drawn to his legs, and how they can’t be his because they look too smooth and youthful. 

Then, Ford remembers.  Dipper had accidently shot him with a plasma gun, and his body reverted back to its twenty-year-old state, and Stan had—Stan had—

Ford feels his face burn at the memory of the night before.  Of course he and Stanley had copulated before, and there was enough of an issue of them being twins, but Stan having a—a _kink_ , for lack of better word—for Ford’s younger self?  That was a whole new level of taboo. 

But it wasn’t like Ford really cared, because after all it was still _Stanley_ who was fucking him, but the things Stan had said…The thought made his color deepen, the blush spreading to his ears and neck.

“Earth to Poindexter,” Stan calls softly, bringing Ford out of his thoughts.  “Where’d ya go?”

“Stan, listen,” Ford starts, sitting up and moving to close his legs.  “As much as I’d love to fornicate with you—“

“ _Fornicate_?”  Stan snorts, “D’you ever listen to yourself, Sixer?”

“—I need to change my body back,” Ford continues as if he had never been interrupted.  “Who knows what kind of effect will be left on my real body if I stay too long like this.  I could have some kind of deformity changing back, or I might get stuck.”

“ _That_ wouldn’t be a problem,” says Stan, the heat in his gaze returning.  “Well.  Maybe for you. You wouldn’t be able to walk.”

As the realization of Stan’s words hits Ford, his breath hitches.  He’s sure he is probably turning pink again if Stan’s laugh was any indication.  But Stan could talk all he wanted, Ford knows nothing good can come of degeneration of any kind, especially in the physical sense, so he goes to move away from Stanley, out of this vulnerable position and off the bed, but Stan catches his legs, holding them still.

“C’mon Sixer, one more time,” Stan coaxes, pressing a kiss to the inside of Ford’s thigh.  “You were enjoying it in your sleep, made such pretty noises…”  He mouths the underside of Ford’s balls, and Ford bites his lip to keep from letting the whine in his throat escape.  “But I like ya better awake,” Stan continues, looking up at him with an expression that is absolutely _unholy_ and Ford’s toes curl in anticipation.  “I can make ya scream.”

Heat shoots through the pit of Ford’s stomach at Stan’s words, curling and taking away any thoughts to rejecting this.  Stan brought his lips to the tip of Ford’s cock, being almost mockingly gentle.  Ford jerks forward with a groan, already breathing hard, they were barely even doing anything but he already felt like he was going to explode—

A knock on the door causes the pair to freeze. 

“Great Uncle Ford?” calls Dipper from the other side of the door. 

And then it’s chaos; Ford scrambles to get off the bed but Stan keeps his hold on Ford firm, not letting his legs move.  Ford pulls at Stan’s hands to get him to let go, but Stan instead grabs one of Ford’s wrists in each hand and pins them on the bed beside him.  Dipper continues, undeterred, “You said you were going to wait until morning to recalibrate that gun, but I haven’t seen either you or Stan at all and I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Ford squirms, but Stan has locked him in a position that is keeping his spine straight on the bed, his legs open even wider than before.  “Stanley,” Ford whispers, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits behind his glasses.  “Let me go!”  Stan stares right back, smirking as he drags his tongue across the length of Ford’s cock.  A whimper escapes Ford before he can stop it, and Dipper knocks on the door again.

“Ford?  Are you okay?”

“Answer him,” Stan urges, the gleam in his eye nothing short of predatory.

Keeping a wary eye on his twin, Ford clears his throat and calls back, “I’m alright, Dipper.”

There was a pause, and for a second Ford thinks the boy has left, but then his voice asks, “Did you change back yet?”

“N-no,” Ford stutters as Stan took the tip fully into his mouth, sucking and running his tongue across the slit.  He shifts closer, wrapping both of Ford’s legs over his shoulders and Ford wants to tell him to stop but _oh god_ Stanley’s tongue—

“Are you okay?  Do you need me to help you walk?”

Ford, who usually encourages Dipper’s curious and helpful nature, wants nothing more than to shout at the kid and tell him to get lost before he succumbs to Stan’s ministrations and loses every last bit of sanity he has left.

“I’m fine,” Ford snaps; his voice is an octave higher and sounds strained because Stan has drawn back and is now blowing cool air across the head and Ford feels his skin break out in goosebumps.  Ford’s head falls back on the bed, and he makes a noise of frustration, irritated at Stan for doing this to him, annoyed at himself for _letting_ Stan do this to him (and a bit horrified that he is enjoying it), and a little peeved that Dipper has such a persistent nature. 

He heaves a deep breath as Stan pulls away altogether, and he thinks Stan might be relenting when Stan lets go of his wrists.  Instead, his brother starts fumbling with Ford’s fingers, attempting to lace them together like they did when they were children. 

“Just—just,” Ford says, and at this point he’s not sure who he is talking to.  Ford lets Stanley play with his fingers until they’re interlocked, a gesture that makes a new kind of warm feeling spread in Ford’s chest next to the arousal. 

“Get the blueprints and the gun ready,” Ford instructs out to Dipper.  “I’ll meet you downst— _aaah!_ ”

Stan has just impaled himself on Ford’s cock, taking him all the way to the root.  Ford’s chest is heaving, the heat in his stomach curling even tighter.  He can feel his heart pounding so hard against his ribs he can hear it, but then realizes the thumping is Dipper on the door again.

“Oh my gosh, Grunkle Ford, are you—“

“Just fell!” Ford dismisses, his voice doesn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.  Between his legs, Stan beings sucking and sucks _hard_ —Ford chokes on his moan, biting his lip so hard he is sure he has broken the skin, and _god_ he still has to _talk_ to Dipper, still has to come up with some lie about why he should leave the door right now—

“I-I’ll meet you dow-downstairs!” Ford forces through his teeth, clutching at Stan’s fingers desperately.  They’re the only thing tethering him to reality right now and keeping him from losing his mind from pleasure.   

There is a beat of silence, then, “You…You’re sure you okay?”

Stan hums around his mouthful, and Ford can feel the vibration down in his bones.  He can’t help but arch off the bed, hips thrusting into Stanley’s mouth while he throws his head back on the bed.  “ _Yes!_ ”

Stan draws off, then sucks him down again, and Ford can’t bring himself to care if Dipper has left or not, he can’t think of anything but Stanley and his tongue and _oh—_

His spine goes ridged, everything tightens, and then he is coming, barely shoving his face into the pillow to muffle his wail.  And even as he is coming down from it, Stan is still lapping at him, still kissing his shaking thighs and hips. 

“W-Was that really necessary?” Ford pants, adjusting his glasses where they had fallen askew on his face, trying to glare at Stanley but feeling too weak to put any kind of fire behind it.  Stan wipes the corner of his mouth where a bit of Ford’s release had escaped and grins at him.

“You tell me, genius.”  Stan moves up the bed and in a surprisingly gentle act, pushes Ford’s bangs off his forehead.  Ford feels himself flush again, squirming away from Stanley and huffing in mock aggravation.

“Yes, well,” Ford says, shakily moving off the bed.  “Now I _definitely_ have to go change back into my older self, unless you would like to explain to our great nephew why I was prevented from doing so.”

Ford busies himself with finding the clothes that were discarded so quickly last night, pulling them on and struggling a bit when they still didn’t fit quite right.  He ignores how Stanley is watching him from the bed, but Ford can feel Stan’s eyes following his every movement.

Finally getting the blasted sweater sleeves rolled up and his belt fastened, Ford heads over to the door but pauses with his hand on the knob. 

“And if you think I’m not going to get you back for this,” Ford tells Stan softly, still facing the door but knowing fully well Stan can hear him, “you’re dead wrong.”

Before Stanley can get another word out, Ford slips through the door and into the hallway, already planning his revenge.

**Author's Note:**

> One day I will stop writing about cartoon characters having sex, but today is not that day.


End file.
